


Spice

by Diaryofanarcissisticgayman



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Misunderstandings, off screen sex with icing, trigger warning for REALLY shitty gingerbread men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diaryofanarcissisticgayman/pseuds/Diaryofanarcissisticgayman
Summary: Niall cannot bake, but Harry is a really good person.





	

Harry loves men. This has never been a secret. Harry shagged lots of men before Niall. He drools over men now with Niall. He does filthy things with Niall that only someone who really loves men would do. He has dirty calendars and a folder on his laptop just marked ‘Men’. Niall knows all of this and accepts it.

There’s one kind of man that Harry likes more than any other, though- Gingerbread men.

Niall doesn’t get the appeal really. He’s never been a big fan. He likes his biscuits chewy and chocolatey. Gingerbread men are a lot of damn work, for not a great payoff, in Niall’s own opinion. But, Harry loves them, so Niall doesn’t mind putting in all that work. Harry is Niall’s favorite man, after all, even if he can’t actually say that out loud.

So here he is, drawing little icing faces and kits on the two dozen gingerbread men he’d made from a recipe he found online. If they all happen to resemble Niall, with little blond-ish-brown quiffs and all of his favorite outfits (including the ones he steals from Harry when he can), that’s not really here nor there. It’s not a thing.

It’s not a thing they talk about, anyways. Because Harry likes men, not one man. He likes a variety in his life. He likes not being attached, but knowing he can still come to Niall for what he wants or needs. And- Well- Niall likes Harry. Whether it’s more than that, Niall won’t even talk about with himself.

Instead he does things like making two dozen gingerbread men that he doesn’t really like, because Harry loves them.

He hears the door click open just as he finishes putting the last touches on the last of them.

“Guess who brought takeaway.” Harry hums from the front door as Niall hears his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other. There’s the jingle of his keys hitting the bottom of the bowl, and the rattle of the coatrack when he hangs up his things, and the rustle of paper bags as he makes his way through Niall’s little flat.

“I hope it’s Louis, because he’s got much better taste in junk-food than you do.” Niall laughs.

“Don’t be rude.” Harry huffs when he reaches the doorway to the kitchen, leaning against the frame. “I got that curry you like, and I’m not going to share if you’re going to be a brat.”

“Then I guess I won’t share these.” Niall hums, waving at his army of little biscuit men. “They’ll just sit here and go to waste. I’ll have to dump them all in the bin, and that’ll be so sad, watching all their little limbs break and their heads fall off after all the work I put into them.”

“You made gingerbread men?” Harry asks, his face lighting up as he steps into the room.

“Well, it’s almost Christmas, and I was in a baking mood.” Niall mumbles, trying desperately not to blush with the way Harry’s face goes all soft. “I know you like them, so I thought I’d make some for you.”

“This is why you’re my favorite.” Harry grins, closing the distance between them and pressing a kiss to Niall’s cheek when he steals one of the gingerbread men off the platter. He sticks it in his mouth, head first, and bites it off with a snap that echoes through the kitchen. He chews it quickly and swallows before saying, “This is- Wow. Is this a family recipe?”

“No.” Niall says, shaking his head. “I looked it up online. Nobody in my family really eats gingerbread.”

“Well, thank you for making them for me anyways.” Harry murmurs, pressing a kiss to Niall’s temple. “Now get to your bed. I want to thank you a bit more.”

“I’m covered in flour and spices.” Niall scoffs.

“I know. It’s dead sexy.” Harry hums. “Get going. And bring the icing bag. I have plans.”

 

“I’m never going to get clean.” Niall whines, wiping vigorously over his body with the towel. Two orgasms and two showers later, and Niall still can’t get the gritty feeling of the icing off of his skin. “This is the absolute last time I let you make any adventurous decisions in the bedroom. They always end up like this.”

“Really now?” Harry hums, leaning his elbow onto the counter and propping up his chin with one arm while the other casually feeds him yet another gingerbread man. It’s his fourth or fifth. Niall’s lost track at this point. “My ideas always end up with you scrubbing icing out of your arse in the kitchen?”

“You know what I mean.” Niall huffs, throwing a glare at Harry before he begins pulling on his boxers. “I always end up with a rash or an itch or some substance where it’s not supposed to be, and you always end up amused for hours. Whose bright idea was it to use the toothpaste as lube? Yours. Who thought that organic chocolate sauce would be great to eat off of each other? You. Which one of us-”

“Which one of us has literally made the other cum so hard that they blacked out?” Harry smirks. God, Niall hates it when that gets brought up. It was one bloody time, and it was only for a few seconds. He’s too smug for his own good, Harry is. “Me.”

“Oh my god, I don’t know why I put up with you.” Niall mutters, opening up the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“Because I get you your favorite curry, and I give you mind-blowing sex, and, when we go sit on the couch to eat, I’m going to let you put on whatever inane sports game you want and put your cold toes under my thigh without complaining.” Harry says with an easy smile. “And because we’re each other’s favorites.”

“When was that decided?” Niall asks with a grin. “Payno gives me knee massages, and Ashton gets me concert tickets, and Bressie gets me into all the best games. What do you do?”

“Orgasms trump tickets.” Harry says flatly.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” Niall muses, taking one of the plates off of the counter. “Pretty sure I’ve been to at least a few concerts and games that have been just as good as the sex we’ve had. And I never end up scrubbing icing or toothpaste out of my arse after them.”

“I think the better question today, is why do I put up with you?” Harry grumbles, picking up another gingerbread man and glaring at Niall pointedly when he bites the head off of it. Niall just snorts out a laugh and grabs Harry’s plate to carry it to the living room.

 

“Why are your toes perpetually cold?” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of cookie. Niall is beginning to worry that Harry’s stomach is going to explode, because at least half of them are gone now. Maybe more.

“Because your arse doesn’t offer much in the way of insulation.” Niall hums, wiggling them under Harry’s bum. “Not enough there.”

“Or could it be the fact that you smoke?” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “Or that you never wear socks or joggers?”

“Pretty sure that it’s because you’ve got a little butt.” Niall giggles, bringing his toes together to apply a light pinch to Harry’s cute, tiny arse.

“Haven’t had any complaints from you before.” Harry says with a shrug.

“That’s because it’s a little, magical butt.” Niall says sagely, as if it were wisdom for the ages. “It works miracles. Also- Tastes like oranges whenever I eat you out, which I still find both weird and exciting.”

“Special body wash.” Harry chuckles.

“Shh, don’t ruin the magic of your arse.” Niall chides, wagging a finger at him. “It’s more fun if it’s a mystery. Mysterious, orange magic butt. It’s the stuff of dreams.”

“Oh my god.” Harry snorts. “You are so weird. How many beers have you had?”

“Not as many as you’ve had gingerbread men.” Niall scoffs. “I’m a bit afraid you’re going to shit yourself on my feet if you keep shoving those in your gob.”

“You made them for me.” Harry pouts.

“Yeah, I know. And I know that I’m not going to see you for three days if you keep eating them, because you’re going to end up living at the gym.” Niall points out, leaning forward and snatching the platter off of the coffee table in front of Harry. “You need to stop for tonight.”

“No!” Harry yelps, lunging at Niall, only to be caught by the blond’s feet on his chest. “Niall- Don’t! They- They’re mine!”

“They must be some pretty fucking good biscuits to have you like this.” Niall smirks, taking one off the platter and locking his knees to keep Harry away when he swipes at them. He sticks the head in his mouth, bites it off, and it’s like time slows down.

Physically, Niall is very aware of what happens in his mouth as he chews, but there’s a part of himself that is very focused on Harry’s reaction, more than his own. Harry’s eyes go wider than Niall has ever seen them before. He looks panicked, like someone drew a fucking gun on him or something. It doesn’t take long for Niall to figure out why.

If someone ate nothing but fistfuls of spices for a year, and then shat them directly into Niall’s mouth, it still couldn’t be as bad as what he experiences from the first chew of the biscuit. The effect is immediate. Niall feels his stomach turn over, and then time speeds up again as he shoves Harry to the floor and scrambles off of the couch. He barely has time to stick his head into the ficus planter. He was going to try and make it to the loo, but his stomach decided that there wasn’t time for that, and his tongue agrees.

Vomit scorches its way out of his throat, and, the thing is, it’s actually a relief. Vomiting curry and beer into the plant Harry bought him last month is somehow less horrible than having that biscuit in his mouth. It’s not pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he doesn’t feel like his tongue and throat and sinuses are being brutally assaulted anymore by a gang of thug spices armed with knives and steel toed boots. That counts for something.

It counts for a lot, really.

“I told you not to eat them.” Harry sighs, crouching down next to Niall and rubbing over his back with one large hand.

“That is the worst thing in the history of cooking.” Niall slurs out, leaning his forehead on the edge of the planter. “If Sauron and Darth Vader had a baby, and that baby was a biscuit, it would be that biscuit.”

“Yeah.” Harry says quietly. “Remember the story I told you about the first time I tried to rim a guy, and he farted directly into my mouth? Those were worse.”

“You got up and left when that happened.” Niall points out weakly, looking at Harry with one eye. “Why did you keep eating the nasty, ginger fart biscuits? Why didn’t you tell me that they were nasty, ginger fart biscuits?”

“Because you made them for me, and I love you, idiot.” Harry murmurs, stroking the thumb of the hand that’s not currently on Niall’s back over the blond’s cheek. “You made them for me, so I put on a smile and ate the nasty, ginger fart biscuits, because, even though they were terrible - horrendous, really- You made them for me. You took the time to try and make something that I like, which you don’t, just because you love me.”

“Can you not take the piss out of me right now?” Niall groans, swatting Harry’s hand away. “I feel bad enough without you making fun of me.”

“I was being sincere, twat.” Harry huffs, pressing a bottle of water from the table into Niall’s hand. “Swish and spit. The ficus is a lost cause anyways.”

Niall does as he’s told before taking a few gulps and then laying back on the floor and mumbling, “So that’s it then, yeah? The end of this?”

“The biscuits weren’t that bad, Niall.” Harry chuckles, running his fingers through Niall’s fringe.

“No, but I mean- You know, apparently.” Niall sighs, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Like- You know that I’m mad about you, so that’s it. I know how you feel about that kind of thing.”

“Niall-” Harry says slowly, his fingers coming to a halt in Niall’s hair. “What do you think we are?”

“Think most people would qualify it as friends with benefits.” Niall shrugs. “Listen- I get it, okay? That’s not the kind of thing you’re here for, so I’ve tried to not be like- Obvious about it, or anything. I just- Can we please still be friends?”

“I’d prefer to keep being boyfriends, actually.” Harry scoffs.

“What?” Niall questions, looking over at Harry. “You’re not my boyfriend. You don’t do boyfriends. You do casual sex and pulling at clubs and- And men. Lots of men.”

“Niall-” Harry sighs. “When is the last time I pulled anyone at a club who wasn’t you? When’s the last time I went home with anyone who wasn’t you? It’s been at least six months. You know- Ever since this whole thing began. I’ve had a toothbrush here for three months, and half of my wardrobe is here.”

“And you keep half of your boots at Liam’s place because he has a walk in closet where he can fit them all.” Niall points out. “Louis’ bathroom cupboard is full of your hair products. Ashton and Calum have a shelf full of your records. You kind of have a tendency to annex other people’s space.”

“I’ve been telling you that I love you for months now.” Harry argues. “And you’ve been saying it back.”

“You told me you loved me the night we met.” Niall counters. “When I bought you that stupid appletini, and then again when I held your hair back when you puked it up all over Bressie’s shoes.”

“The night we started this, I told you that I wanted it to be a thing.” Harry says quietly. “What did you think I meant?”

“A friends with benefits thing.” Niall admits. “Like- When you couldn’t be bothered to go out and pull. Fuck- Are you telling me we’ve been dating?”

“I thought we were.” Harry mutters, pushing himself up off of the floor and heading towards the door. “Apparently you thought very differently, and very little of me.”

“No- Shite! Harry, wait!” Niall hisses out, climbing onto shaky legs to totter after Harry. “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry for what?” Harry asks harshly, shoving his foot into his boot. “Sorry for leading me on for the better part of a year, or sorry for thinking I’m just a slut who uses you for sex?”

“I’ve never thought you were a slut, Harry.” Niall says gently, grabbing the younger lad by the elbow. “I just- I thought you didn’t want to be tied down. I didn’t lead you on. I was just taking what I could get from you, because I’ve been bonkers about you for ages. I never let myself think about any of the things you just mentioned because- Because it felt like I was getting my hopes up. It’s not like we ever had a talk about where this was going, or what it was. Before this, you got around. You enjoyed that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Harry huffs, turning to look at Niall. “I was just kissing a bunch of frogs to try to find a Prince Charming. Thought I’d finally found one with you, but- Now I don’t know.”

“Harry, did you really think that this is how I’d act if I knew we were dating?” Niall asks. “I never take you out or anything. I got you a pair of police handcuffs for Christmas. They’re right over there, under the tree. If I’d known this was - real- I would have been so much better.”

“I like our relationship, Niall.” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “I love it, actually. I just need to know it actually means something to you, or I need to end this thing now. I’d say ‘before I get in too deep’, but that ship has sailed, so I just want to minimize the destruction.”

“Just because I didn’t know you were mad for me, that doesn’t mean I’ve not been mad for you.” Niall says softly. “Made you those nasty, ginger fart biscuits, didn’t I?”

“That’s not helping your case.” Harry snorts.

“I know.” Niall chuckles. “But I hope that me telling you that I love you too, and I’d like a chance to be your boyfriend and know about it, does.”

“As long as nothing has to change.” Harry says after a moment. “Because I really do love our relationship, Niall. I like having adventurous, icing sex with you, and you putting your cold toes under my arse when we eat on the couch, and you making me nasty, ginger fart biscuits.”

“How about you take that boot off, and show me how to make biscuits that don’t have fart in the name?” Niall offers. “And if there’s any icing left afterwards, we can do that thing again?”

“I knew there was a reason that you’re my favorite.” Harry hums, pressing a kiss to Niall’s temple. “But, first, I’m going to go throw up, because I ate fourteen of the nasty, ginger fart biscuits, and I’m a little afraid that I’m going to die in my sleep now if I don’t get them out.”

“I highly recommend that.” Niall nods. “You’ll feel loads better.”

“And you go take the ficus down to the skip. It’s already wilting.” Harry adds. “And, please, for the love of god, tell me you have a case of mints that we can use to get this taste out of our mouths.”

“No mints, I’m afraid.” Niall hums. “But I think there’s still a few gingerbread men left, if you want one.”

Niall’s pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the way Harry turns a little green before he runs off through the flat towards the loo with his one boot still on.

So maybe Harry does love men, but Niall’s pretty sure he’s Harry’s favorite man, now. He might even be above gingerbread men, after this. Maybe.


End file.
